WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "A moment or two we may not have!" Cayn retorted as he dried his hands.

  "I rarely beg a man for anything," Tolkan sighed, "but I care deeply for our young Prince. Can you not help me save him?"

  Hatred filled Cayn's face. "If it weren't for you and Tohre, he wouldn't need saving!"

  When he started to go, Tolkan stepped in his way. "Whether you believe me, Cayn, I do have feelings for the boy."

  Cayn's lip curled. "Oh, I have no doubt that you do!" He shouldered aside the Arch-Prelate and stalked from the room.

  Tolkan's face moved into a satisfied smile. "That should have been time enough, don't you think, Beryl?"

  The Tribunal physician finished drying his hands and neatly folded the towel on the wash basin. "I believe so, Your Holiness."

  Cayn stood to the side of the low table on which Conar had been placed. Where to begin, he thought with dismay? The flesh on the boy's back hung in shreds in several places. Blood ran freely over his sides and soaked the stainless steel table. The twin gashes on his left cheek gaped open, muscle and bone showing through. Wood splinters were driven into the tips of his fingers where once the fingernails had grown.

  "We should clean away this blood," the Tribunal physician said as he came to stand beside Cayn. "Then we can see how much damage has been done."

  Cayn looked into the man's clinical face. "I can see how much damage was done! He needs something to keep him from contracting blood poisoning."

  The physician clapped his hands at his assistant. Cayn looked away from the man's emotionless face, his attention caught by a feeble movement in one of Conar's hands. He thought the boy was unconscious, had prayed that he was, but it was not to be. He saw the prince's lids open and heard a soft whimper escape the bloodied lips.

  "You'll be all right, son," Cayn said, taking Conar's left hand.

  Conar gasped, his eyelids fluttering rapidly and then the wounded blue orbs rolled back into his head.

  Cayn eased Conar's hand back to the table, sensing his touching of the ravaged fingertips had caused the reaction, but a coral shadow in the center of the Prince's palm caught and held his attention. He gently opened Conar's hand and stared.

  "What the hell is this?" he snarled, turning his glower to the Tribunal physician.

  * * *

  Legion paced from one side of the Tribunal's front to the other, stopping occasionally to stare up at the closed doors, willing Cayn to appear with news. His face was livid with rage, pinched with fear. His long strides were heavy and erratic, his heartbeat, the same.

  Sentian and Hern leaned against the marble columns that held up the canopy over the walkway. They were worried, too, but no emotion showed on their faces. The only sign of their fear was the rigid set of their shoulders.

  Marsh, Thom and Storm, Ward, Lin, Wesley and Belvoir sat together on the bottom steps of the Temple. No conversation passed between the seven. They kept watch on the double doors as they, too, waited for word.

  Brelan Saur stood under the cover of the canopy. If he felt anything, it was not evident in the way he answered Legion's anxious questions. He appeared calm, his face expressionless. He neither changed the tone nor inflection of his voice, and he did not once look toward the doorway until the heavy shriek of wood instantly brought his attention to the man who came out.

  Legion's breathing stopped; his heart ceased to beat. He could not have moved if his life depended upon it. Passing a line of heavily armed Tribunal guards, Cayn descended the Tribunal steps. Legion saw nothing registering on Cayn's face and grew instantly alarmed.

  Thom, Storm and the others came to their feet. With unhurried steps, they joined Legion and Brelan at the base of the Tribunal portico, their attention centered entirely on Healer Cayn.

  "Cayn?" Legion forced himself to say.

  Cayn shook his head. "We lost him, Legion." There was heavy grief in the man's thick voice. "We did everything we could, but his heart gave out."

  "No!" Sentian shouted. "That can't be!"

  Hern stopped him from storming the steps of the Tribunal Hall. "There's nothing we can do, now, Heil," he said, his voice breaking.

  "Let me go!" Sentian screamed. "He needs me, damn you!" He struggled against Hern's fierce grip. He jerked his head toward the Tribunal Hall. "Let me go, Hern! I promised her I'd take care of him!"

  "There's nothing we can do for him, now," Hern told him. "He's gone."

  "No!" Sentian bellowed, sagging against Hern.

  Legion stared at Cayn. His world had come to an immediate halt and he had trouble finding his voice. "Did he…was he…" He bit back the tears. "Was he aware of what was happening?"

  "Was he conscious?" Thom asked. "Did he feel anything? Did he know you were there with him?"

  Cayn shook his head. "He wasn't awake for more than a second."

  "Did he say anything?" Legion sobbed.

  "Nothing."

  "Will they let us see him?" Lin asked.

  "He wouldn't have wanted that." Cayn rubbed away his own tears. "The things they did to him…inhuman. He would want you to remember him as he was, not as those bastards made him."

  "Who'll prepare him for burial?" Sentian cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Those sons-of-bitches? I'll be damned if I'll let them put their filthy hands on him again!"

  "They won't bury him, Heil," Brelan said even though he didn't turn.

  "What are you talking about?" Sentian gasped, pushing away from Hern. "They have to—"

  "He'll be taken out to sea." Hern laid a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Traitors can't be buried on Serenian soil according to law."

  "He was no traitor!" Sentian shouted.

  "He was branded a traitor and that is what they will call him," Legion whispered.

  "Aye, they branded him all right!" Cayn snarled. "Those bastards wanted him never to forget it, either. Even his hands were branded!"

  Brelan turned around. "What kind of brand?"

  "In his palms. Fresh burns in the shape of a triangle with—"

  "Two wavering lines running across the apex," Brelan finished.

  "You've seen those kind of marks before?" Cayn asked, shuddering at his memory.

  Brelan looked away from the man and his voice was toneless. "That would explain why he couldn't use his powers this morning."

  "What are you talking about?" Cayn asked.

  Brelan looked at Legion, although it was as if he was speaking to himself. "The walls of the entire Tribunal Complex are lined with iron plate that is inscribed with ancient runes put there to keep any sorcery from working inside. It's the same way, they say, inside the keep at World's End. If Conar had tried to utilize the power Liza says he possessed, it wouldn't have worked. Just as her powers were no good in trying to reach him. But once in the sunlight, he could have drawn help from Alel. The Domination put those brands in his palms to keep him from doing that. The brands are magic symbols, runes to negate the power within his hands."

  "How do you know about such things?" Cayn asked.

  Brelan flinched. He seemed to remember where he was and who he was with. A dull flush spread over his face. "When you travel as much as I, you learn a lot of useless information."

  Hern carefully watched Saur. When Brelan looked his way, Hern glared at him with mistrust.

  Legion had not been listening. He felt numb from his lips to his toes. He knew he was crying, but it didn't matter. He wanted to be alone, but couldn't seem to move. With detachment, he looked about and saw little of the courtyard, the Temple, or the Tribunal portico. He whimpered.

  "Legion?" Cayn put his arm around the big man. "We need to tell your father."

  Legion lifted his head, no real understanding in his face.

  Cayn looked at Brelan. "Will you go with us?"

  Brelan let out a heavy sigh. "Aye." His attention was caught by the arrival of a warrior on horseback and realized it was Andre Belvoir. Idly, he wondered why the man was there.

  Hern caught up with Brelan as he fell
in beside Legion and Cayn heading toward the palace. "I'd like a word with you, Lord Saur," Hern said in a gruff, no-nonsense voice as he reached out a heavy hand.

  Brelan felt as though a clamp had been applied to his shoulder. He turned to face the old soldier and raised one dark brow.

  "Who is she?" Hern asked without preamble.

  "Who is who?"

  "Your lady, Saur," Hern answered, aware that Sentian stood beside them.

  "I don't know who you mean." Wariness filled Brelan Saur's brown eyes, belligerence lined his handsome face, an ugly turn came to his lips.

  "Don't play games, Lord Brelan," Sentian told him.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

  "We're talking about your lady!" Hern snapped. "The lady you are Sentinel to!"

  If Brelan was taken aback by Hern's statement, he didn't show it. "That's not important. What matters is Liza." He let his gaze go back to Sentian. "I take it you are her Sentinel."

  "I am and proud to be."

  Saur looked at Belvoir as that warrior joined them. "Medea's?" At Andre Belvoir's quick nod, Brelan seemed to relax. "Then we all four know Liza is our main concern." There was no need to ask Hern; he would have been Queen Moira's man.

  Hern clenched his fist and held it, palm down, toward Brelan. "To serve and protect her and hers."

  Sentian's fist came up in the same way. The thumb of his right hand touched the little finger of Hern's. "To guard and defend her against all evil."

  Belvoir thrust forward his own beefy paw and connected with Sentian's. "To comfort and support her in times of need."

  Brelan didn't hesitate. His fist wedged between Hern's and Sentian's.

  "To honor and obey her even until the last breath," the four men said in unison.

  They understood one another perfectly.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  "How is she?" Legion asked as Brelan closed the door of Liza's room.

  Brelan's face was tired, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. "She's sitting by the window just staring out. I can't get her to even talk to me, much less discuss Conar."

  A'Lex raked his fingers through his thick salt and pepper hair. "I know. I tried, too."

  "How's Papa?"

  "Still asleep. In a way, I thank the gods he was so weak that morn and passed out before Tohre gave Coni the last hit. He didn't see what the lash did to Conar's face. When he woke and learned Coni had not survived…"

  Brelan held up a hand; he had heard the ungodly scream of grief with which their father had rent the air. It had taken Hern and Cayn to force the king to bed and Legion to make him take the laudanum that had kept him in a fog since Conar's death.

  "I wish things had turned out differently." Saur stared at the frieze along the ceiling. "I wish my last words to him had been more of a comfort."

  "Did you say something in the Interrogation Facility that has you feeling guilty now?"

  "It was what I didn't say. I told him everyone was behind him; that no one thought him guilty, that all of you were praying for him." He lowered his head. "But never told him I believed he was innocent of what happened to Papa."

  Legion turned a stunned face to his younger brother. "Have you suddenly developed feelings for him now that he's no longer a threat to you?"

  "I didn't wish the man dead," Brelan growled. "For her sake, I wish he were still here. She needs him now more than ever. Someone told her what I said to Conar when I handed Nadia over to him. She was…" Grief filled Brelan's voice. "She was deeply hurt."

  "So was he. Wasn't that your intent?"

  Brelan flinched. "But I didn't mean to hurt Elizabeth."

  "No, you meant to hurt your brother, and you did."

  "No one will ever hurt him again," came Sentian's low voice from behind them.

  They turned toward the former Elite. "What's the matter?" Legion asked.

  "I came to see my lady," Sentian answered, putting his hand on the knob to Liza's door.

  "You can't go in," Legion said.

  "She called for me," Sentian said, his chin in the air.

  "She didn't do any such—"

  Brelan laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, hushing him. "Go in, Heil. She needs you."

  Legion could only stare. His face told of his confusion. When he swung his eyes to Brelan, he saw the man grimly smiling.

  "I'll tell you about it one day," was the simple answer.

  "What's wrong with now?" Legion snapped.

  "Because we have things to attend to that are more important." Brelan started for the stairs.

  "There's nothing more important to me than knowing what possible reason Sentian Heil could have for seeing Liza. She didn't call for him."

  "He wouldn't have come to her if she hadn't."

  "She hasn't left the room, hasn't opened her mouth in two days! How the hell could she—"

  "In less than two hours, we will be in that courtyard watching our kin being taken away. That we be there is more important. That we keep Elizabeth from being there is even more important. She doesn't need to see his coffin, or those other six being loaded onto the Serenian Star." He took Legion's shoulder in a firm clasp. "Find someone to stand guard outside her door. Make sure he understands she is not to leave her room until the ship is no longer visible on the horizon."

  "And where the hell will you be?"

  "Papa shouldn't be there, either. I'll ask Hern to keep him from going."

  Legion shook his head. "We might be able to keep Liza away, but you'll never stop Papa."

  "I'm damned sure going to try!"

  Legion fell into step beside him. They began their descent down the stairs, but suddenly stopped, their faces shocked and blanched white.

  "It's gone," Legion whispered.

  Brelan looked hard at the lighter patch of wall where once the portrait of Conar McGregor had hung along the stairway side by side with his twin brother's, linked together by a gold chain to signify the dual birth.

  "Damn them," Legion spat. "Why?"

  Brelan sighed. "Because Papa disinherited him."

  Legion slid down the wall, put his hands over his face. His shoulders began to shake.

  Sitting beside his brother, Brelan put his arm around Legion. "You loved him very much."

  Legion's tear-ravaged face lifted. "He was more than my brother! He was my best friend!"

  "I know." Brelan laid his head against his brother's. "And I know I'm a poor substitute, but if you'll let me, I'll try to fill the void."

  "I'm glad you're home," Legion whispered. "The family needs you, Bre."

  A little smile formed on Brelan's face. "It's funny. Even though I was raised here, I've never considered Boreas Keep my home. It was always Conar's home." He looked at the section of bare wall. "Until now."

  * * *

  They were all there. Legion, Brelan, Teal du Mer, Sentian, Thom, Marsh, Storm and Hern. Members of the now-disbanded Elite like Ward, Drummond, Lin, and Wesley had gathered, as well as Roy Matheny, now of the Palace Guard. They talked in low voices, their nerves stretched taut.

  Occasionally one of them cast a look toward the Tribunal Hall, but the doors, although open, were heavily guarded. The guards stood across the front of the portico, blocking any vision of what was going on inside. The men watched as, one by one, a silent, respectful crowd began to form along the Tribunal Square and down past the cobblestone roadway leading to the docks.

  It had been three days since the deaths in the courtyard. Three days of stunned emotions and little talk.

  As was custom and law, men executed under the edicts of treason or sedition were not allowed burial in their home soil since they had given up that right with their treachery. Seven rough-hewn caskets had been carried into the Tribunal's side door earlier that morning and the ship that would take those caskets out to sea for an unhallowed, unmarked burial, lay anchored in the harbor. Its black sails, the trademark of a prison transport ship, snapped sharply in the breeze. Standing on deck was its bo
rrowed captain, Holm Van du Lar, and his eyes were flint-hard and angry; his mouth set in a prim line of grief.

  "Are Grice and Chand with her?" Teal asked Brelan. The gypsy's normally laughing face was filled with lines of intense guilt.

  "They were, but I think Chand intends to be here," Brelan answered.

  "I heard they went before the Tribunal to ask for Conar's body," Thom said. A slight shudder went through the big man. He ducked his huge head. "I guess it didn't do any good."

  Brelan sighed. "They wanted to take him for burial in Oceania, but the Tribunal denied the request." He wondered why that piece of news hit him like a rock in the pit of his gut. His brother's death was beginning to bother him more than he ever thought possible.

  "They are making an example of him, even in death," Lin snarled. "What harm would there have been in allowing them to take His Grace to Oceania?"

  "They mean to deny him peace in the afterlife as they denied him peace in this life," Hern said with a harsh grating in his voice. "Each of us knows who's behind this."

  "Prove it," Marsh remarked.

  "One day, I will."

  Coming to stand on the stone steps of the keep proper, Grice and Chand Wynth looked out over the crowd. Both men were amazed so many people had arrived in such a short amount of time.

  "He was loved," Chand said quietly.

  "So it would seem," his brother answered.

  Unable to keep King Gerren away from the courtyard, Cayn and his assistant had simply given in to what was destined. They accompanied their King to the Temple where he spent most of the afternoon praying to a god he thought had deserted his family. As the three men emerged from the Temple, they saw riders approaching and recognized the King's youngest legal sons, Coron and Dyllon.

  "I sent for them," Cayn answered the King's silent question.

  "Thank you," Gerren told him. "I had forgotten to do so."

  Gezelle gently closed the keep's entry door behind her and went to stand behind Prince Chand. She smiled timidly as he turned.

  "You are well, mam'selle?" he asked, answering her soft smile.

  "Aye, thank you, Your Grace." She dipped her head, unable to look directly into his face.